


grauis et mugit

by unchangeable57



Series: communis in fide [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Matt Murdock, Explicit Consent, High Sex, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hypersensitivity, Light BDSM, M/M, Marijuana, Matt does a weed, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Some Humor, autistic matt murdock, pretend new york has much more lenient medical marijuana laws, super senses, top Frank Castle, weed make u horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchangeable57/pseuds/unchangeable57
Summary: Sounds and textures aren’t the only things weed makes more intense, harder to ignore. On a normal day, if he wanted to, he could focus on the scrape of his silk boxers over his skin and it would feel as strong as a hand on him. While high? It’s as if he’s getting the slowest, most teasing handjob.or: Matt gets high and booty calls the Punisher





	grauis et mugit

Like most good decisions in his life, the next time Matt has sex with Frank is when he's high. He refuses to feel guilty about it—the weed, that is—because it was Brett's mother who gave him the vape, right in front of her groaning son, saying he ‘looked too damn anxious’. So really, he only took two hits to be  _ polite _ .

Of course, two hits for him leaves him pleasantly stoned; still in full control of his faculties, but sedated enough to not want to climb, flip, and fling himself back home. Being the responsible adult that he is, he calls someone to pick him up. And being the unmitigated disaster that he is, that person is Frank. 

The last time he'd talked to Frank, he'd revealed some of his deepest traumas and cried on his dog. It’d gone surprisingly well, but Matt's been too awkward to contact him since and he thinks (?) that Frank might be giving him space. But high Matt has always been much more confident and much more forgetful, so he decides that high at a police officer’s house is the perfect time to clear the air.

Frank doesn't react to the request except to say he’ll be there in thirty minutes, which to Matt sounds simultaneously fast and like an eternity. He spends most of that infinitely finite time in the Mahoney’s backyard, enjoying the grass on his bare feet in a way he rarely gets to indulge in the city. Of course, that also means he feels the worms and beetles under him, the vibrations of cars on the road buffered in favor of the moles digging yards beneath. 

Being high doesn’t make his senses less intense, as he’d hoped when he’d first tried it; if anything, everything is more intense. But somehow, whether it be the euphoria or pain-relieving effects, or something else entirely, it makes everything bearable. His senses role over him in waves, unfiltered and overwhelming, yet comfortable enough that he wants to get swept up in them.

It’s been 38 minutes since Frank answered (or maybe less, if Matt’s underestimated the increase in his heart rate) when Matt hears a familiar four-wheel drive roaring a couple blocks away. While Matt’s highs seem to be more intense than what he’s heard from non-enhanced people, they go away just as quickly, so by the time Frank’s boots crunch in the gravel out front he’s already on the down swing. 

“Hey, Red,” Sober enough to realize what an absolute idiot he is. Why did he call  _ Frank _ ? He doesn’t even know if Frank hates weed, or has some sort of trauma connected to drug use, or doesn’t want to babysit a stoned vigilante, “how’re you doing?”

Frank’s voice is low and curious, no obvious annoyance, so Matt figures he won’t be annoyed by the truth, “I can hear the stretch of your lungs inflating. Still a little stoned.” 

That gets him a surprised laugh, and Frank’s boots are on the grass too. “You wanna head to your apartment while you wait it out?”

“Only if you come with me.” Matt decides to blame that one on the weed and starts walking to the car, remembering at the last second to walk around the fence. Frank just sighs and opens both the front car doors, so Matt slides inside and considers it a win

\--

Sounds and textures aren’t the only things weed makes more intense, harder to ignore. On a normal day, if he wanted to, he could focus on the scrape of his silk boxers over his skin and it would feel as strong as a hand on him. While high? It’s as if he’s getting the slowest, most teasing handjob. Matt’s slowly regaining his filter as he sobers up on the drive, so thankfully he doesn’t voice this out loud. 

Not that he isn’t willing to have a repeat of their last night together. Because he is; more than willing: he’s  _ desperate _ for it, still reeling from how completely Frank could take him apart. No, he’s very willing, he just doesn’t know if what he revealed… If that has had any effect on whatever Frank feels for him.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling into the parking spaces for his apartment complex. He’s definitely sober now but that doesn’t exactly push his feelings away, so for self preservation he stays in the passenger’s seat.

To his immense credit, Frank doesn’t say anything, only gets out and scans the scene. Soon enough, Matt’s bulge is back to normal and he gets out of the car as well. “I meant it, when I invited you to come with.” He says, hoping his speech will show his sobriety.

Frank sniffs, mutters “I know,” and follows after him. Walking the many flights of stairs is awkward, mostly for Frank refusing to get any closer than ten steps behind him and Matt resisting every urge to jump him in the stairwell. He pushes open the door and remembers to flick on the light, the quieter LED hum filling his apartment.

He doesn't know how he got here, willingly inviting the Punisher into his home, wanting to invite him into his bed. But Stick’s dead, so it's not like there's anyone to lecture him for his attachments. 

Frank swallows and makes to speak, and it's just enough for Matt to realize he's been standing in the middle of his living room for who knows how long. 

“Are we gonna do this thing, or what?” Frank asks, his heavy boots stomping as he takes a couple steps closer.

“Uh… what?” Matt's mouth is dry from more than weed.

Those boots stomp some more, and now Frank is close enough that Matt can hear his shorn hair shifting. “Unless you still need to sober up. I'll admit, I didn't expect a booty call from you, much less you stoned,” he snorts, breath travelling over Matt's blushed face, “I figured weed’d be too much for you. The smell n’ all.”

It's been too long since Matt last smoked, if his tolerance is so low that he forgot making a  _ booty call _ to the  _ Punisher _ . In the midst of his small internal crisis, said booty call takes a step back, and when he next speaks his voice is more serious. “There's no pressure Red. I only came to take you home; anythin’ else is up to you.”

It takes all of two seconds for him to make a decision; “No! I mean, I know there's no pressure. I… Want to be with you, Frank.” And he closes the gap between them, relishing the way Frank’s body heats in response.

Powerful hands trace his shoulders, “I ain't a mind reader, Sunshine. Tell me what you want.”

Matt's always been better at showing than telling. Grabbing one of the hands on him, he moves it slowly down his own body, grazing his chest and abdomen until they land at his crotch.

His other hand finds the same place on Frank’s body, heat and blood and  _ want _ rushing up to meet him. “I want you inside me.”

They stumble together to his bedroom, both too distracted by each other’s bodies. Frank's mouth moves all over him like before, except for this new excited energy that makes him fast and almost clumsy. Matt could almost laugh if he wasn't in the same position, happy butterflies in his stomach and breathing just that extra bit faster.

When Frank's hands move to his pants, massaging his crotch, he regrets having to push them away. From Frank's faster heart and tensing muscles, ready to pull away, he has some idea what the move looked like. “I still want to do this,” Matt reassures, “I just don't want to be… overstimulated.”

If Frank were a better man, he might not have smiled at that; Matt might not have felt his hunger, the way his arousal tinged the air. But because they're both on just the right side of wrong, they get wrapped up in each other again. Matt enjoys the warm, spread-out pleasure of from his skin, but with just how sensitive he is, it's a careful game avoiding where the pleasure is sharp enough to hurt.

Frank plays the game perfectly, only grazing his more sensitive points—a nail across his Adams apple, hot breath on his clothes chest—no part of him feels untouched, un-worshiped, yet it never becomes too much. He's panting as Frank reaches his waist, hands trailing over his sides before pushing down his slacks.

A gruff voice rumbles up from between his legs, “Can I eat you out first?” and his face and neck flush (if they weren’t already); he thinks it over for a moment before nodding while biting his lip. 

Then Frank's mouth is on him, tongue circling his hole and the fine hairs around it, and Matt grabs Frank’s hair to steady himself. His fingers are tight in the short strands as he wills his body to relax, trying to focus on the feeling of his coarse hair instead of the waves of hot sensation; he doesn't want this to end too quickly.

The wet sound of lips leaving skin, and then a growled: “Let  _ go _ , Red.” And though there's still that part of him telling him to last, deep-held anxieties scared to give into pleasure, Matt does. He lets his awareness encompass Frank’s hot mouth on his ass, feels each nerve ending light up as he licks and sucks.

It doesn't take long, after that. His dick isn't even fully hard when he cums, panting and covering his own stomach. Frank, being the asshole that he is, proceeds to lick him up from his taint, making sure to get every drop; he shudders in dry orgasm when the tongue brushes against his tip.

Matt's already feeling remarkably loose, so he whines when Frank insists on prepping him with his fingers. The Marine starts with two, at least, though the cold lube earns a hiss as it presses into him.

His fingers don't have to crook for Matt to tense and shudder again. “Did you cum again, Sunshine?” Frank asks, husky but with a note of surprise. When Matt  nods, he circles his fingers inside in appreciation. “How's about we make a deal: you have to count how many times you cum.”

Matt moans, “Okay, y-yeah.”

“So we're at two now?” Frank asks, trying to hide a grin as he drags his fingers slowly in and out.

“Th-three,” Matt pants out, and Frank rewards him by crooking his fingers and finally pressing against that bundle of nerves. He's awash with pleasure, and it's with a shaky voice that he corrects, “f-four.”

If Matt could see the grin on Frank's face, he may wonder why it wasn't  _ him _ who was called the Devil. His fingers scissor inside him, rubbing at his taint with a thumb, and Matt writhes with his touch. As the third finger slides in, he is quiet and still, his mouth frozen open. 

Then he cums, muscles clenching tight around Frank as he punches out little gasps. At his moaned “Five,” Frank finally relents, sliding his fingers out. 

Matt hears the lube opening again, can picture Frank preparing himself before he feels the head of his cock. He presses in agonizingly slowly, to the point where Matt is surprised to find that the head has already popped in.

After that, the inches go by faster, each vein creating new sensation inside him. Without any positioning, it puts a constant pressure on his prostate, and something deep within him is satisfied as he's finally filled. 

He can feel each beat of Frank's heart through him as if it's his own; can feel how each breath causes minuscule shifts of his cock; can feel the tension running up his body to keep from thrusting.

And then he  _ moves _ .

It's not the same as the sharp pleasure he associates with sex (though despite what Foggy thinks, he doesn't have a lot to compare it to). Frank moving in him spreads warmth through his body, like the feeling of a deep massage in sore muscles. 

Matt is almost relieved; as much as he enjoyed that first time with Frank (and enjoyed feels to small a word), the pleasure was always inches away from overwhelming him. 

Now he can relax into Frank's gentle thrusts, not focused on an orgasm or avoiding one. He hears Frank's muscles contracting to roll his hips into him, as his legs strain to keep him standing upright.

But Matt longs to feel the rest of his body, more than the vague impression of him he's gained patching him up after missions. Reaching up with one hand, he tugs on his shoulder.

"What is it, Red?" It's rare to hear his voice this soft, with an underpinning want.

Matt can't help but smile before pulling Frank down onto the bed with him. He slips out, but it's worth it to feel his body against him, muscle and skin and hair pressing against his.

He feels the rumble of Frank's laugh before he hears it, "If you wanted to change positions, you coulda just asked."

"Then come here." He shifts until his back is pressed against him, then guides Frank's arm around his middle.

Matt is used to hearing his heart, even to feeling it when they touch, but now it echoes against his own ribs. Frank fumbles behind him for a moment, and then his cock is inside him once again.

When he thrusts in this time, the angle is different, and Matt can't hold back his gasp as the head presses against his prostate. The pleasure is still diffused, but it instantly coaxes warmth to build up in his stomach.

Frank builds up a faster pace now, thrusting in and out and hitting that spot on each stroke. It doesn't take long for a genuine orgasm to grow.

He pushes back against him, chasing his release as if he hadn't come multiple times already. This is his first proper time bottoming, but he already can't imagine doing anything else. On one thrust, Frank grinds his hips into Matt's, and that's enough to push him over the edge.

Moaning and writhing, he still manages a breathless "Six!". Frank's heart stutters in surprise, and his rhythm falters, hips snapping harder into Matt.

Matt feels something shift, and then Frank's thrusts are short and hard, and his mouth his breathing wet heat on Matt's ear. Teeth scrape his earlobe, before giving a quick bite that sends his senses reeling.

The sharp pain combined with the warm pressure inside him is like connecting a circuit; it's too much for him to cum, forced instead to ride out the too-intense pleasure.

And it's  _ good _ . As his body shudders, Frank pumps once, twice, then whispers, so quiet it's almost mouthed: "You're so good for me." And spills inside him.

Matt is still twitchy with aftershocks of pleasure, and he can't help a squeaking gasp as Frank pulls out. The leftover lube irritates his skin, but as Frank holds him close he can't be made to care.

It isn't really over; they still rub and touch and kiss, bodies intertwined, but all the need for release is gone. 

When he finally does speak, he buries his voice in the strong arm cushioning his head; "You should say it again."

Frank's voice is gruff and tired, but with a warmth to it that can't be ignored, "Say what?"

Matt nuzzles in more; "Call me good."

"You're good, Red," a soft laugh rumbles through him, "Even though you basically just made a high booty call, you're good." And that's enough for both of them to relax into almost-sleep, minds wandering but together.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! I really enjoyed writing this because I took a lot from my own (definitely totally legal) experiences with weed, as well as with sexual stimulation. Being high while autistic is, i think, the best way to be high, for exactly the reason I described in the fic: "if anything, everything is more intense. But somehow, whether it be the euphoria or pain-relieving effects, or something else entirely, it makes everything bearable. His senses role over him in waves, unfiltered and overwhelming, yet comfortable enough that he wants to get swept up in them."  
> like that's literally just me describing how it feels to get high w sensory issues (for me personally; i also know a few autistic people who hate being high bc of the potential anxiety). and getting horny while high is actually super common lmao. matt being worried about getting overstimulated from frank touching his dick is Also a me/autistic thing; direct genital contact can be Super overwhelming, to the point where orgasm is impossible.  
> basically, i just took my own experiences and turned them up to eleven, adding a dash more Human Disaster. sorry for this long authors note but hope you enjoyed! as a small gift for reading it: the title translates to "highs and lows" because im Extra. next up Is that foggy apology fic i promise, its just turning out a bit longer than i expected  
> as always, comments cure my depression


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